


The human Body Is The Best Work Of Art.

by MarvelsMenace



Series: The Seven Sins of Matthew Murdock [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, Lust, M/M, Pining, abrocados in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: Lust had been a presence in Matt’s life since college, when he was able to finally relax into the life of a college student, away from the strict limits of Catholic school, and into the protective bubble of Foggy’s care.  He had never had the luxury of attraction before, too focused on his crusade to learn and adapt around the gifts and the loss of his father.  But with time, and gentle pushing, he soon grew out of the restraints he had tied himself in, falling into an easy sort of orbit around the kind force that was Franklin Nelson.





	The human Body Is The Best Work Of Art.

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved the idea of the seven deadly sins, and find that they were a great way to sort of take Matt apart and find out pieces of him that we dont really know, and can make our own. I love these idiots and hope you all do as well. 
> 
> Title by Jess C. Scott

Lust had been a presence in Matt’s life since college, when he was able to finally relax into the life of a college student, away from the strict limits of Catholic school while introduced to the otherworldly feeling of physical contact that was on a level beyond anything he had ever experience.  The college life thrusting him into the protective bubble of Foggy’s care.  He had never had the luxury of attraction before, too focused on his crusade to learn and adapt around the gifts and the loss of his father.  But with time, and gentle pushing, he soon grew out of the restraints he had tied himself in, falling into an easy sort of orbit around the kind force that was Franklin Nelson. 

After the small adjustment period that always grows when living with an unfamiliar person, he found their time together easy and a sort of warm pleasure that he was wholly unprepared for.  How different it was from the girls he sometimes went home with after parties.  He should have seen the feelings churning in his chest way sooner than it had taken him, but by that point, not a damn thing could be done about it.  Any question of reciprocations of affections were crushed, blamed on projection and wishful thinking.

 

* * *

 

_They were walking across Icey sidewalks, steps careful under streetlights as they trudge through barely winterized paths back to the dorms from where they had been holed up in the library.  It was a last cram session with the reference materials that couldn’t be checked out, and a sort of terrified relief had settled onto them, knowing that a few more days, they would be done for a short break with time to descramble their brains.  Foggy had simply told him that he was coming home with him, knowing full well Matt would be lost without his constant noise._

_“God Matty, your’re so damn good to me.  You know that?  I don’t deserve you, you clever thing.”  Foggy nearly knocks him forward with a slap to his shoulder, squeezing in a hard grip to keep Matt from slipping to his death._

_“I just used a little bit of the blind kid guilt I’ve been storing up this semester.”_

_He makes a small noise, preening internally as he brushes it off, thankful for the darkness of night between streetlamps to hide the flush that is steadily climbing up from beneath his collar.  He feels filthy, taking such a heady rush of satisfaction from such a simple comment.  Anyone would help their friend out, would thank their friend, he tries to think about who would feel arousal from the simple praise of being called good._

_Just a friendly comment he reminds himself._

_Praise had been a foreign thing for so long, something had crossed wires in his brain over the subject, now turning innocent and heart felt compliments from Foggy into something delicious and near tangible that made him want to press against the other and take his mouth in a hard kiss._

_Heat pools in his groin with the praise before he can stop it, only encouraged by the familiar smell of Foggy’s soft skin and the strange combination of flannel and denim he must be wearing tonight, all mingled with the clean smell of his shampoo on the icy air.  When other people told him things like good job, or great point in class he felt some pride yes, but nothing like how he felt when Foggy praised him._

_Matt has to bite at his chapped lower lip to keep the words locked in his chest, the taste of copper bursting on his tongue as he breaks the abused skin, grounding him.  He laughs in the right places the rest of the walk, nudging back when Foggy leans against him until they make it back to the dorms.  He hasn’t showered yet, and he makes the honest excuse of going to grab one while it’s quiet, so he can scrub away the smell of moldy paper and the stale air of the library’s central heating.  His clothes are a loss until laundry day, they can join the soiled boxers he’s been hiding at the bottom of his laundry bag every morning this week._

_The communal bathroom is blissfully empty as he carries his things in, allowing the façade of inept blind guy to fall from his shoulders like the weight of a yoke.  He keeps an ear out as he turns on the tap of oneof the stalls, knowing the cool weather outside will only slow the old pipe’s ability to deliver hot water to the row of showers.  He strips when he can feel the humidity begin to settle on his skin, the stiffness of his erection has barely diminished, and he removes his jeans with care, his boxers following shortly on the haphazard pile of clothing on the bench.  The cool air of the bathroom is jarring against the sensitive flesh, and he makes haste to get under the warm spray of the shower after he chucks his glasses to join his abandoned clothes._

_The first touch of his swollen cock in his hand is a mixture of sensations, it bobs hard and heavy, curving up to his abdomen when he releases his grip.  Ecstasy pulses through him with the slide of his wet hands, while the feel of his silk soft flesh is sinful in his palm.  He can feel each pulsing vein, and every drop of fluid that leaks before the water can wash it away.  He braces himself against the cool tiles with a forearm, taking the wet skin of his bicep between his teeth to muffle the sounds he can’t help but make, images flashing beneath his blind eyes._

_Foggy had let him “see” him once the previous semester while he was fairly drunk, though the exchange had left them both with racing hearts and a charged silence.  Matt hadn’t been able to go a day without thinking about soft skin, interrupted by the stiff hair of side burns and wild facial hair.  It was only too easy to imagine his hand tangled in long, soft hair, smooth skinned palms against his shaking thighs as Foggy took him with his mouth deeper and deeper until his nose bumped the nest of coarse curls at the base of his cock._

_That image did him in as embarrassingly quickly as it always did, teeth sinking into a hard bite on his arm that only moved to push his release harder through him.  Matt panted, reaching out with his ears to make sure the coast was still clear as he set about actually taking a shower, the suds of soap gliding like oil over his skin._

_He was a terrible friend, the guilt whispered to him, telling him this constantly and he promised himself that he would come clean, soon.  He just needed to think about how.  Because as with everything else in life, there were questions, and he couldn’t be honest about those questions without toing the line surrounding his abilities.  He had come across blurbs in law research about the mutants and their abilities popping up over the world, how they were feared, mistrusted.  Stories in the news of horrible acts aginst those who God created with that gene._

_After turning the water off, he stepped out of the shower on weak legs, drying off with his scratchy cotton towel, and dressing in pajamas before bundling up his old clothes.  Slipping his glasses on, Matt let himself out of the bathroom quietly, mind churning while tapping his way down the hallways in what must be a damn good impression of a blind guy._

 

* * *

 

Years later, despite all the fallout from Daredevil, its stretched beyond lust by miles, swollen into a painful wound of heartache and unsaid feelings that makes him want to vomit at times.  He’s had some partners since college, a few stayed, others were a night of distraction for him, for them.  _Shit_ , he’d even managed to crash into the bed of Clint Barton, who according to Foggy was a bigger train wreck than Daredevil.  Matt would take it, anything that meant he wasn’t at the bottom of Foggy’s list.  None of this meant that the lust had left him, more so having moved to the back burner to simmer slowly, no doubt able to boil over eventually. 

It didn’t matter.  Now though, nothing does.  Nothing comes close to quenching the burning in his gut whenever he finds Foggy within the range of his senses, his body latching onto the familiarity of it without notice or intention.  He could be a block over while Matt is getting coffee or walking down the block as he heads out onto the roofs for patrol, his gait and heart calling out to Matt through the static of the city.

The memories of previous ease sting, painful like a healing burn, irritated by the slightest brush of contact or light.  They still see each other at the office every work day, bustle around Karen’s whirlwind, grab dinner if something new or interesting comes up on the food blogs Foggy tracks.  But there’s an unease, like they’re about to end up at a cross roads without a compass or a map.

The lust eats and eats and eats at him until one day he finds himself on a great cliff, clouds blocking the view of anything below, debating the worth of the safety behind him, or what might be waiting for him at the bottom.  Because if things arent reciprocated, Matt can’t see them getting much worse.  From any outsiders prospective though, the cliff looks and awful lot like the edge of a city roof.  His own if you want specifics.  Court had gotten out early, and Foggy was absent when he returned to the office, so he took the rest of the afternoon off and headed home, his mind so much of a buzz that he knew he wouldn’t be getting any work done.

Foggy finds him there hours later, sitting on the edge in worn jeans and a tee shirt, an unzipped hoodie tossed on over as a second thought to shield him from the winds blowing off of the water.  The sun is maybe an hour or so from setting, a great orange orb burning in the reflective surface of Matt’s glasses.  He can feel the warmth of it on his face, the coolness as it slips behind a skyscraper.

Some of his joints creak and moan as his business partner settles himself beside the blind man, the position only a bit less precarious further back from the edge.  The rubber soles of Matt’s shoes cause his foot to bounce off the brick as he kicks back against the building, lost in thought.

“Your bug friend sent me an SOS to make sure you weren’t going to pitch yourself off the roof.” 

Foggy’s tone makes it sound like he was just following up, but his slowing heart rate betrays him, fear fading into a relieved blip at the edge of his senses. 

“That kid’s a pain in the ass. Pretty sure he should be in school.”

His voice is flat when he speaks, and he knows he doesn’t really mean it.  He was having a quiet moment of thinking and someone got nosey.  At least Foggy came to check on him instead of Wade or Spidey himself.  If this was fate trying to be funny, he was going to write a latter, shitty hand writing or not.

“That’s what you get for being a half way decent role model biweekly?  You know what, fuck that.  I don’t know where I was going with that.  He’s got you to look out for him though, I’m sure he’s got family that’s thankful for that.  Maybe avoid the dumpsters if family ever comes up with him.”

Matt purses his lips, nodding as he ignores the attempt at a joke. 

“Are you thankful for that?”  There’s a stillness between them before he follows up.  “That I’m out there trying to keep an eye out on the kids who are trying to do this, who won’t back down?”

It’s a heavy question, and he almost regrets asking it.  They’ve only been back on speaking terms outside of work for so long, to toss their progress in the dumpster may ruin him.  But it was Foggy’s choice, if he didn’t respect it, couldn’t support it, refused to allow himself to stand by and watch this happen.  Matt couldn’t and wouldn’t make him.

“Depends on the day.  When I see you at the coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon and you’re beat to hell and I know I’m going to get a call soon about my blind best friend falling down stairs, I think it’s dumb as shit.”

 He sighs, and Matt wonders how many of those calls he’s gotten, and from who.  Because most know that there is a tension between them that doesn’t allow much small talk. 

“But when I see grainy cellphone photos of the devil helping get kids to safety during a drive by, or the front-page story of a drug lord a little roughed up in police custody, I think still it’s dumb as shit, but I’m glad someone is going to make sure not a single person falls through the cracks that we can’t fill with lawyer talk.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I just wish, it wasn’t you who had to do it.”

It’s barely a mumble, and Matt wonders if Foggy had forgotten about his hearing, but when his heart beat speeds up, he realizes that he just doesn’t have it in him to care, that he’s nervous and anticipating Matt’s response.  Huh. 

A brutal wind blows across the roof, rocking him back from the edge before gravity pulls his legs down to balance him once more.  Foggy shivers behind him and Matt sniffs, figuring that he must have come straight from work.  The wind was probably blowing through his suit at this point. 

Tiny chunks of gravel and grit slide between his palm and the rooftop as he hoists himself to his feet, toes over the edge so the front half of his feet are hanging over open air, balanced only by the weight in his heels.

 How easy it would be to take one step and let gravity do the rest.

He steps back, and Foggy takes a deep breath, giving Matt enough pause for him to cock his head and look in the direction of the stairs to his apartment.

“Want a beer?"

 

* * *

 

The studio apartment is slowly warming from the chilly status it had been lingering in when he had gotten home from lawyering.  This is one of the first true cool days of fall, so the heater is cranking out musty air, a stale stench that sticks to the back of his throat as it makes its six-month switch from cold to hot.  He wishes there was an easier transition between summer and fall.  

Matt doesn’t even pretend to do the blind act, wont insult Foggy with it, they are past that, and who knows if pretending will just start another row.  He can feel the eyes on him as he toes off his shoes by the front door and moves into the kitchen, grabbing two bottles from the fridge, abandoning their aluminum caps on the counter. Foggy follows the action, lingering to hang the coat of his suit up on one of the hooks.  The minor tremor in his hands is causing a squeak of glass on glass that he’s sure only reaches his ears, but it’s another layer of sensation piled onto what Foggy has already brought into the room.

There’s a warmth rolling off of him, sitting high in his cheeks and low in his hips, with an air of cool sweat being acclimated by its owner’s body.  He’s licking his lips, air leaving his mouth in silent words before he changes his mind about speaking.  How hard does he have to push himself to take a chance on what he wants?  Are these reactions from Matt’s presence based in turmoil of their clashing views, or is he suffering just has Matt has been, suspended in a state of rocking uncertainty that has always been lurking in the corner of his mind. 

He’s so caught up with lingering thoughts from the roof top that he actually manages to trip on his route to the couch, after placing the two bottles onto the coffee table, that he sometimes forgets about, his foot catching on one of the legs of the thing.  It sends him sprawling onto his hands and knees in the small space between the table and couch, his glasses making a faint skittering noise as they go sliding under the furniture on the wood flooring.

The blind man pushes his chest to the ground and reaches, bumping his head on the bottom support of the couch as his fingers brush against the lenses just shy of his reach.  He hears the slide of glass on wood as Foggy collects his beer, taking a confused sort of sip while Matt fights under the couch.  The noise of his breathing ricochet off of the glass, helping him locate them, as out of reach as they may be.

“Jesus dude, where is your usual grace?”

“Hiding out with my usual sanity apparently.”

His reply is muffled from his position crammed half way under the couch, but the general tone of snark must carry well because Foggy chuckles above him.  At this point, it would probably be easier to get up and go around, but he’s fucking committed at this point.  He shifts some, and his hip brushes against Foggy’s leg.  He can hear him choke on his beer, startled?

“What the fuck are you doing, building a den for winter?”

Matt would give him the finger if he could.

“I lost my glasses, I can’t reach them.” 

His finger’s just brush the metal of the frames.  All most.

“Why not just pick up the end of the couch muscles?”

“Because your ass is currently sitting on it.  Move your leg.”

There’s little heat in the exchange, and Matt makes a small groan as he stretches just a bit further, bumping into Foggy again and ignoring the ensuing noise and scuffle.  Got them!  He’s too busy blowing off dust and cramming them on his face to take in where he ended up, so when he moves to heave himself onto the couch, and the thing under his hand is warm and solid and not very couch feeling, he has to stop for a moment to right himself. 

With the slightest tilt of his head, he picks up the location of the heater, and the other vents, the hum of kitchen appliances, and the dripping of water from a gutter on the roof.  There is a silence in front of him though, and he looks, finding Foggy’s pulse racing at a steady clip just above eye level.  He shifts under Matt’s blind gaze, even with the glasses, and takes in a breath, swallowing thickly.

“I think you may have gotten a tad bit turned around under there.”

Foggy’s voice is a hoarse sort of something just above a whisper with an underlying tremor, and with anyone else, he may have gotten away with it, but with Matt he knows there’s no chance.  And God above, he’s trying to think of anything that will slow the flow of blood to his groin, because Matt just had his denim clad ass up in the air at an angle you could bounce quarters off of, only to surface between Foggy’s spread legs, one strong hand, hot and firm,  grasping at his thigh through the material of his slacks. 

Fuck if that doesn’t put his mind in the gutter he had practically lived in in college, because Matt’s plump pink lips are just shy of open, and he wonders briefly if he’s tasting he air, taste the stirring of arousal in his cock.  Because damn him to hell, this sure isn’t the first time he had thought about Matt Murdock on his knees between his spread legs.  All it’s missing is the begging he would have died to hear coming from the smart ass’ mouth.

Matt thinks back to the roof in an instant, how easy it is to take a step, and before he can talk himself out of it, he places his free hand on Foggy’s other thigh, using a firm squeeze to show that it is in fact intentional.  He stays kneeling but rises from where his ass had been resting on his heels to something more upright, well into personal space limits while leaving what couldn’t be more than six inches, if you were generous, of space between their bodies.  He can feel heat rolling off of the other man, smell the thick elixir of arousal and salt from beading sweat.  Matt clears his throat, tilting his head to look up at Foggy with a smile that may have leaked just a bit of how petrified he is behind it.

“Maybe.” He swallows, steeling himself like he’s anticipating an incoming blow.  “Maybe this is exactly where I want to be.”

_“Oh.”_

Foggy is pretty damn sure that he is going to go into cardiac arrest or have a brain aneurism the way his heart is beating in his throat.  Normally not an issue, if it hadn’t already happened when he had gotten a damn text message from honest to God Spiderman from a burner number.  It only makes his heart beat harder, knowing that Matt can hear it, probably fucking feel it in this thighs from where his hands are still resting.  Those hands are trembling now, and he thinks that maybe he should say something more than _Oh_ , because he’s only been pining since the first fucking week of law school for this dumbass. 

“I-I’m going to put my beer down, or else this is going to end up way less pleasant than I think it’s going to be.” 

Matt laughs uneasily and leans back slightly.  He can feel the material of Foggy’s shirt against his arm, and the soft noise of glass on the table is like the chiming of a bell in his ear, but Foggy is right in front of him, and his heart is hammering as he speaks.

“I think I’m going to kiss you.”

And God he does, soft and hesitant, willing to give Matt an out if he changes his mind because he doesn’t want to push him to something.  The man deals with enough pressure, and Foggy is enough of an idiot that he’ll make himself suffer if it means one less thing for Matt to worry about no matter how much strife if causes Foggy. 

But Matt opens his mouth with a small noise, licking at the seam of Foggy’s lips enthusiastically, one hand rising to plant a firm grip on his bicep, keep him from moving too far back. Foggy cups his cheeks, thumbing dark stubble and tilting his head just right so their noses brush and they move impossibly closer with an almost synchronized sigh.

They part for heaving breaths, both flushed and slightly drunk from everything but the beer.  Matt has this stupid sort of smile, and it makes something in Foggy’s chest squeeze, because Christ how long had it been since Matt had smiled like that, since Foggy had gotten one of those smiles all to himself?  He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a calloused hand fitting over the back of his own, reinforcing his grip.

“You’ve been doing an awful lot of thinking since you sat down, might want to be careful.” 

Matt’s always had a mouth on him, but Foggy is still feeling just shy of disoriented from this turn of events, honestly waiting for this to turn out to be some joke at his expense.  He releases the lean cheeks cupped in his palms, rolling his eyes.

“Get up here asshole, I know you can use that mouth for more than weak insults.”

Matt laughs and squeezes the thick thigh beneath his hand, eager to pay due treatment to them later, before he is scrambling up to straddle his (business) partner, brushing his lips against the other man’s with a careful sort of reverence.  Foggy is still a little dazed below him, and he finds his hands blindly, moving them to settle on his hips.

“Touch me?”

He sounds a hair’s breadth from needy, unsure, but it must be the encouragement Foggy needs, because large hands are moving, one to the sensitive dip of his waist, while the other, more eager slides back to take a hand full of the firm muscle of his ass, hauling him closer.  There’s a noise of general interest as two bulges of arousal brush through the layers of clothing, firm and warm with arousal.  The sensations are almost overwhelming, and Matt has to take a moment to breathe, nosing his way under Foggy’s jaw and down his throat, peppering the skin with nips and kisses.  He leans back as a thought strikes him, and the man below him stops, hands still from their exploration like he’s petting a nervous dog that might bolt.

“Can I touch you?”

Foggy makes a face, then rolls his eyes again, this time hard enough Matt can hear it.

“I made a face because you’re an idiot.  You’re in my lap, I think it’s a bit late to have concerns about that not being okay.”

They both chuckle, and Matt tosses his glasses behind him, pressing his forehead to Foggy’s.

“I want to see you.  It’s the only way I know how.”

“ _Oh_.”

Foggy doesn’t like to think about his health unless he’s at the doctors or being guilted by someone.  He could lose weight, could trade the softness that has been there since his youth for lean muscle and brute strength, but he likes his softness, the part of him that would be _curvy_ if he was a woman in a magazine.  But for Matt to take it in again, the soft cheeks, the somewhat out of shape physique, it makes that self-conscious thing that’s been rooted in his gut since middle school feel like it’s climbing his throat. 

But he knows Matt better than he had last time they did this, and he forces his answer from his lips.

“Yes, that’s um, that’s cool.”

A furrow forms between Matt’s eyebrows, Foggy reminds himself to investigate that later, and settles for brushing his nose against the other’s.  But then calloused fingers find the hair line at his temple, and his heart beats a little bit harder in apprehension. 

Being honest with himself, he knows he’s actually slimmed down a bit from law school, the only other time this has happened, knows he doesn’t come near the rippling muscle filled body currently perched on his lap.  There’s a softness that’s different than Matt’s blade sharp jaw and stubble.

“Just want you to know, uh, I’m not a magazine worthy face.  I don’t know what kind of detail you get from your feelers but-“

He trails off as Matt’s fingers begin to move, sliding across his brow and down the outer edge of his eyes to his cheek bones before Matt is starting over above the bridge of his nose, fingers sweeping with a gentle touch until they meet where he had left off to smooth along the thin skin below his eyes. 

Foggy almost wishes Matt’s eyes were open, a part of him having some sort of ache to see that honest and empty gaze he had only gotten glimpses of on rare occasions.  But Matt is incredibly focused on his task, forming a picture he won’t ever be able to see.  He tries to bite onto the inside of his cheeks as the curious fingers fan out across his cheeks, but Matt puts a stop to that, fingers stopping.

“Unclench your jaw, your teeth are grinding.”

And he does with little reluctance, because Matt had asked, trusted him not to reject this one indulgence.  Thumbs stoke along his jaw, down his throat, and he swallows thickly when the exploration is stopped by the buttoned collar of his shirt, Adam’s apple bobbing below rough finger pads.  The other man releases his touch with a sort of reluctance, leaning back and looking focused, as if he’s trying to figure out an old law school problem. 

“I don’t understand how I ever got anyone to come home with me when we went out together.”

Foggy’s heart skitters a bit.  That certainly wasn’t anywhere near what he had expected to hear.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Matt’s hands are in his lap, and Foggy watches as they pluck at the hem of his t shirt, a fidgeting from some sort of inner turmoil.  Probably the usual case of Catholic guilt. 

“I, I haven’t-  I don’t usually do that.  I don’t have the chance, and I know it makes most people uncomfortable so I don’t ask, but Foggs.  You’re probably the best-looking guy I’ve ever known.”

“C’mon Matty, I bet you say that to all the guys who let you touch their face.”

Matt lights up at the old nickname, and Foggy immediately wants to use it again, though he’s stopped with a solid smack to his chest, Matt’s finger poking him after the strike.

“Don’t tell me you’re going deaf, I just said I don’t feel comfortable doing that but.  I-I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

Foggy squints at him, curious to see if this is a new development for Murdock, or if he’s been just as miserable.

“How long is a long time for you?”

Matt grumbles something under his breath, chin tucked into his chest.  He’s having none of that shit, and grasps the other’s stubbled jaw, raising it until they are eye to eye.  Matt’s eyes flutter open, and foggy has to take a second to breathe, to take in the sheer beauty of the shade of his iris before he can speak.

“I’m going to need you to speak up counselor.  We all don’t possess bionic ears.”

Like the child he is, Matt sticks his tongue out, dragging it as far as he can reach across Foggy’s digits.  With the lack of reaction, he sighs, making a face.

“Since that time we were drunk in law school.”  Foggy almost stops him, needing more specifics until Matt continues. 

“You let me play with your hair and failed to teach me how to braid it.  You let me see you that night.”

Foggy drops his grip, letting his back sink into the couch back.  Matt seems slightly alarmed at this, but before he can move, Foggy tugs him foreword by the shirt, gently manhandling him until his ear rests over his racing heart, bracketed in a strong embrace under crossed arms.

“We’re a bunch of dumbasses.”

“We are?”

“I had the hots for your dumb ass the moment you walked in the fucking door.  Once I realized you knew what you were talking about, your passion for school, and everything else that went with it.  That day you countered with that douche professor the first week of classes.  Man- I was screwed.”

Matt makes a wet sort of noise of possibly relief below him, and Foggy sniffs.  Stupid stale heater smell, it’s irritating his allergies.  Has to be.

“So, this is okay?” 

Foggy releases his hold as Matt leans back, his hands finding the other’s tie to keep his hands busy, the silk slippery under his fingers.  He won’t tell him that it’s probably only ten percent silk.

“I swear to God if you ask me that again, I’m going to give you a safe word and you won’t get to ask any more questions _.  Kiss me you dumbass_.”

With a go ahead like that, he’s not surprised that Matt practically surges across the small space separating them after a delicious sort of shiver, his mouth eager and demanding, a stark contrast to the soft almost uncertainty from earlier.  He makes a mental note about safe words in the deep dark of his brain.

Foggy thinks that Matt kisses like how he must fight, a forward force of aggression, backed in defense of himself as a second thought, moving forward one step before taking two steps back like the tease that he always has been, luring you into his territory.  He bites at Foggy’s lower lip, one hand tangled in his hair, it’s longer than it had been the last time he felt the brush of it against him, and Matt hopes he’s growing it out again, wants more to grasp and pull.  The other hand spreads wide against his ribs, spasming in a rapid clench and release like he can’t pull him close enough, can’t touch everything he needs to. 

He takes a moment to breathe, eyes closing as he explores the man before him, moving close enough that their foreheads can touch.  There are things that need to be said, and part of him is terrified of what those things will be, but he knows that before this can go any further, that they need to be dealt with.  Foggy seems to be on the same page, speaking first.

“This doesn’t fix everything.”

Matt draws in a tight breath, but sighs not a moment later, nodding as much as their touching brows will allow.

“I-I know.  Part of me hoped it would but-“

“We’ll get there I think.  Just, this is new, and great, but it doesn’t fix everything.”

Foggy can feel the furrow form in Matt’s brow, so he kisses him again before he can get too caught up in his own mind, his own guilt that he is all too experienced in churning up.

Matt is probably waxing some sort of poetic before him, tasting the coffee from this morning with too much cream, and the raspberry Danish he had gotten for breakfast but didn’t have time to eat until he was walking out of the office.  But Foggy doesn’t have super senses, so Matt tastes like his usual late afternoon cup of coffee with too much sugar, meaning he probably went to the place on the corner who can’t remember a blind guy’s order five seconds after he’s given it to them.

He wants to move his hand, place it on his shoulder, his jaw, something less fleshy, _less soft_ , but as Foggy licks into his mouth, and Matt presses himself closer with a quiet sort of desperation, fingers digging in with pleasure, Foggy tells his self-conscious side to get stuffed.  He pushes back against Matt, tugging with the same urgency until they’re nearly falling off of the couch, saved by the brace of Matt’s hand gripping the edge of the table behind them as they tip, the wood of it creaking in protest.  Foggy makes an irritated noise, letting his head fall back, his newly exposed neck set upon by kiss reddened lips.

“That’s it, I’m making the executive decision to relocate this tangle of limbs elsewhere before you crack your head open and I’m forced to call Claire.”

Matt sputters before him, pulling back as his face scrunches to look incredulously at the other.

“Before _I_ make us?”

“Yes.  _You_.”

He taps the end of Matt’s nose with a finger, the offensive digit smacked out of the way with little heat and a confused face.  Foggy slides his hands down the other man’s back, taking two handfuls of fantastic ass before he shoves his body into standing.  Matt makes an indignant sort of squawk, legs seizing around his middle with a startling grip while his arms scrabble for purchase with the smooth shirt on Foggy’s shoulders. 

Once content that he’s not going to be dropped, Matt drops his head, attacking the knot of the other man’s tie with his teeth and loose a few buttons when he risks freeing a hand, the grabby thing coming down to finish the job while he sets to tasting the newly exposed skin like he’s been painted in chocolate.  There’s that male sort of musky arousal resting with the neutrality of his sweat, rising like steam from beneath an icing of… _coffee_.

“You spilled coffee on yourself this morning, didn’t you?”

Foggy trips over his own eager feet as Matt presses his face further into the space below his jaw with long inhalations and swipes of his tongue, swearing before swatting Matt on the ass, his pace a bit quicker before he clumsily dumps them both on the bed, feet and calves still hanging off the end after the tumble. 

“Now who’s being a nosy shit?”

Matt disentangles himself first with an innocent silence that screams anything but innocent, moving out from under his bulk and backwards up the bed, body moving with a feline sort of grace, both ends of Foggy’s tie trapped in one hand, collaring him into following until he is braced on hands and knees above the blind man resting against plush pillows.  He is flushed and grinning beneath him, dark patches already blooming on his throat.  Foggy thinks he could use more, itches to taste below the collar of his tee shirt.  His eyes are open to the ceiling, and he leans down, kissing between them with a silly sort of tenderness.

There’s a warm bubble around them, like a fuzzy sort of contentment that settles on your shoulders on a cold night, and neither of them want to move for a moment, faces close, sharing breath until Matt rises, nosing along Foggy’s cheek like a cat scenting a new toy.  He kisses him with a luxurious sort of slowness that takes all of his focus, while Foggy is all too aware of the eager hands plucking the rest of his shirt buttons from their holes.  He pays back in due, slipping the thick knit of Matt’s hoodie from his shoulders, a breathless laugh bubbling from him at the irritated noise the man below makes when he gets tangled in his sleeves, unhappy to relinquish his vice on Foggy’s tie and shirt front.  Soon he’s free though, hands right back where they were, tie forgotten in the ability to truly _touch_.

Foggy fights off the newest wave of self-doubt brought from his newly exposed skin by cupping Matt’s cheek, thumb stroking a stubbled jaw while his other hand is busy rucking up the material of his tee shirt over taught abdominal muscles.  Matt’s body is suspended in some sort of odd crunch, shoulders raised for his lips to reach his throat, while a raised foot moves to hook around one of Foggy’s thighs, trying to get their bodies closer with his wiry strength. 

Matt jumps with the first direct touch to his bare skin, zeroed in on biting his way up to the other’s mouth.  He’s distracted by two of Foggy’s soft fingers when they begin drawing an achingly slow line just above the stretch of denim spread low across his hips.  It’s been too long since he’s managed to startle Matt, and Foggy throws his head back to laugh, his exposed throat attacked almost immediately in retribution, drawing a hiss before a sharp bite is soothed with a slow lap of a warm tongue.  It’s going to look like he’s been attacked by an over eager octopus by tomorrow morning. 

The dark-haired man makes a move to flip them, but Foggy holds his position strong, eager to have the upper hand between them for once.  But Murdocks fight dirty, and not a breath later Matt has a hearty handful of the firm evidence of arousal in his slacks, aborting all resistance in leu of getting his hips closer to that grip.  He manages to shoulder Foggy onto his back, scrambling quirky to nestle into a nice perch by sitting on his thighs.

“You’re a filthy cheater Murdock.”

“Combat analysis.  Everyone has a weakness.”

Foggy slides him closer with a firm grip of his ass, arousal meeting well enough despite layers that both men are unable to not take notice, groans echoing in the open spaces of the apartment, coming back to Matt’s ears in waves to send a shiver down his spine.  His voice is rough when he speaks, eyes closed as he feels his way down the front of his friend, the skin smooth and oh so soft, small scars and interesting beauty marks lighting up under his fingers.  His freckles remind Matt of stars, and he wonders if he every truly saw stars as a kid, if Foggy has.  He asks Foggy about the unfamiliar scars, the ones he wasn’t present for, the line in his side from shrapnel, a crescent from a bite in a childhood playground fight, a line below his left nipple from that one time he tried shaving his chest.

“Not a fun time Matty.”

There are familiar ones to him in a sense, knowing them in passing knowledge instead of touch.   The puckered mark of a bursting star from where he was shot, an uneven line from an sliver of wood from a snapping pool stick that he had had to listen to Josie remove, coming out almost a week after a pool hustle gone wrong. 

“This would be more fun with less clothes.”

He’s loathe to stop his exploration, wanting to be selfish, to worship the body beneath his hands, but Foggy’s hands are under his shirt, dull nails scoring up his sides as he slides with a soft bite as he pushes his shirt up, drawing a gasp from his lungs as the cotton rises around his head, disorienting him for a moment until the air of the apartment washes over his bare skin.  His hands are back on soft skin immediately, shoving the crisp shirt out of the way until Foggy is similarly bound to his own earlier predicament.  The heart below him is faster now, though Foggy’s breathing hasn’t changed much, a shaper inhale here and there when Matt finds a sensitive spot, which he has to immediately investigate and commit to memory.  Every hair, nipple, birth mark, even imperfection paints a clearer picture of Foggy that he never thought he would be allowed to witness. 

Foggy holds his breath with his body on display, sure as shit that his heart is currently roaring in Matt’s ears.  He wants to shrug his shirt on, wants to focus on Matt, but the dark head is lowering before him, tongue painting designs only Matt can see across his collar bone.  He finds a spot that makes Foggy twitch and immediately sinks his teeth into it, sucking after until he can feel the pulse of blood beneath skin rise to lay just under the surface in a puddle shaped bruise.  Foggy makes a choked sort of noise, hands grappling until his arms are free and his shirt is bunched up on the blankets beneath him, his now free hands pulling dark hair until Matt is back within kissing range.

They tear at each other’s pants then, the clinking of belts accompanying anxious fingers slipping on buttons, cruel swears aimed at zippers caught on clothing, all amidst hushed chuckles of amusement that are like the whisper of wind through trees.  God how long has it been since it was like this, quiet laughter and clumsy hands, touching and learning and truly loving the person on the other side.

There’s a stutter of hips when there’s nothing but two flimsy layers of clothing separating them, laying on their sides from where Foggy had upset their previous position, sending waves of sensations over their bodies with each roll of the hips.  Matt is an impatient shit, so he moves closer, his hands dipping past the elastic band of Foggy’s boxers to take him in hand, hard and heavy, the velvet smooth head sliding on his palm.  Fine hair tickles his face as Foggy’s face comes closer, peppering his face with kisses until Matt gets truly invested in ruining him and his ability to speak.

 “God Matty, you’re so good, feel so good like this.  _Christ_ -  Oh shit!  Sorry.” 

His voice is husked with arousal, embarrassment tinged on the edges.  He’s always been respectful of Matt’s religious practices, and he’ll probably feel guilty later, but right now Matt couldn’t care less, letting Foggy fuck into his fist with a rhythm eased by each drop of pre-come that spills in his hand.  A shudder of appreciation of the praise rips through him and he pulls away for a moment, kissing the pitiful noise from bruising lips to roll and blindly search for the bottle of lube in his bedside drawer. 

It takes a heartbeat, two, three, before he finds it, dropping it once as Foggy bites a mark into the back of his right hip that he’s going to be feeling _for days_.  His apology is somewhat heartfelt as Matt rolls over, warm skin and blunt cartilage nosing at the hollow beneath his ear.  Foggy all but rips his boxers off, not even paying notice to what direction he kicks them in.  Matt grips the small bottle in the space between their bodies, blindly fumbling with the cap and the right pressure until he can feel the cool substance pool in the cup of his waiting hand. 

Foggy hisses at the cold shock of Matt’s lubed hand cupping him, but the glide against calloused fingers when he moves is so sinful he can’t speak, panting hot and humid breaths into the stubble of Matt’s jaw, trying to touch everywhere all at once with grasping hands. 

“Tell me what you feel Matty, what you’re smelling, _oh God_ -  Tell me everything.”

Matt’s hand stutters, and he’s knocked off of his center by the question, not expecting it.  If anything, he was hoping to avoid the mention of all of that tonight.  But then again, he’s almost never been about to say no to the man across from him.   Foggy takes the chance to physically unbalance him, tucking him neatly beneath his larger body, grinning so wide that Matt can hear it in his voice, the smile evident as his heavy breath whistles around his teeth. 

How many nights could have been spent together like this, if they had just had a little more bravery in them.  How many times could he have already seen Matt spread below him, flushed and wordless with arousal.  Foggy drags a single finger down the shaft currently tenting his boxer briefs, shying back when Matt arches into the touch, a bead of moisture darkening the fabric.  He wants to make up for the fight, the chaos after, the lost time between them.  He pays the same attention back that he had been given, gentle fingers passing over each scar, each spatter of freckles or small birth mark on pale skin. 

“C’mon Matty.  _Tell me_.”

 “Y-your heart, we’ve been through all of this Fogs.  _Come on_!”

As much fun as it is to needle him, he never expected the needy urging, and it sends a small thrill through Foggy as he drags two fingers along his cock this time, slowing as his voice begins to trail off.  Matt seems to get the picture though, unseeing eyes blinking wide up at the ceiling, pupils blown wide.

“It’s all I can hear, I can feel it beat no matter where I touch you.  God, Foggy _please_.”

Oh, and if the sound of Matt practically begging doesn’t undo him.  Foggy moves back onto his knees alone, using a hand in the center of Matt’s chest to keep him in place.  He uses his other hand to circle a thumb on the other man’s hip before sliding the material down oh so slowly until matt gets impatient and tries kicking them off, only for the black garment to hang lewdly from his foot at the edge of the bed.

“What else?”

Matt turns his face towards his voice, making an irritated face as he tries to press himself closer.  He’s got more muscle than Foggy, and sheer determination.  But he’s slowly becoming disoriented, senses clouded with the combination of their bodies and the signals they’re sending, the sounds and smells playing off of the walls.  Foggy’s hands trace his abs as he finds his place above him once more, tenderly following lines despite Matt’s heaving chest, one hand dipping lower to drag blunt nails through the line of coarse hair that begins just below his navel.  As disoriented as he is, it’s like his usual range has been cranked up, willing him closer, urging him to eliminate all space between them.  He swallows thickly, forcing out words as he wiggles to get closer.

“Your shirt is crammed under me.  It’s cotton, but itchy as hell.  It’s got diamond stitching and the buttons are glass, they’re warm from where you were laying-  Ah!”

Foggy takes him fully in his palms, one hand gripping him tightly at the base as the other gives a full stroke from top to bottom.  Matt gasps below him, and he honestly hopes he’ll be able to fuck that mouth at some point.  He slows when Matt turns his head to bite his own arm, trying to quiet himself.

“ _None of that_ , I want to hear you.  Talk to me.”

He gives Matt a moment to breath before taking his hand away, thumbing away the bead of precum that had been forming. 

“Foggy, _oh God_ , you’re so warm, I can feel it even though you aren’t touching me, it’s like standing in front of a fire.  -Can feel the hairs on your legs when I can almost touch you and you _move_.”

This last part is spoken with irritation, so Foggy moves his thumb in a tight circle, taking care to avoid his slit.  He doesn’t really want to ask the next question, he all but ran here, and figures that he probably smells like stale office air and stuck up rich people and their perfumes.  But Matt is taking all of this in, and he knows it will be too much if he just lets him take and take and take.

“What do I smell like Matty, do you taste me?”

Matt jerks when he’s taken in the other man’s hand again, grip hot and firm around him.  The pace he uses is almost worse than not being touched at all, but he trusts his hips, fucking into the grip, the motion smoothed by his own fluid on Foggy’s hand.  He puts his mouth to Foggy’s skin once more, tongue going flat as mouths at his jaw, marking him with his scent and his bite like some sort of animal in heat.

“You taste like icing and butter, like a pastry from that bakery you like to visit on Fridays.  There’s coffee when I kiss you, just at the edge of your mouth, two sugars and one cream because people know how to- ah!  How to take your coffee order.”

He takes Foggy’s mouth with his own again, licking into the open mouth, tasting dry beer and salt from where he had been tasting Matt’s own skin.  A flush rises in him, a taste in the back of his throat so very male and familiar from when he touches himself before spilling into his own hand.  Foggy breaks the kiss to breath, and the heat rolling off of him makes Matt feel dizzy.

“You’re such a good listener like this Matt, so good to me.”

Matt’s breath hitches, taking it all in until he doesn’t even smell the apartment or it’s stale heater, just everything Foggy.  He babbles into Foggy’s cheek as he pumps his fist over his cock, trying to give him more, tell him everything.  To be good like Foggy deserves.

“You smell like your soap, like vanilla and honey, and it’s over the sweat cream that was in your pastry, there’s coconut from that stupid Chapstick you use, and you smell like me all over.  God, Foggs, you smell so damn good, like you’ve been here sleeping in the sun for a week and I’ve been all over you.”

“You were doing great until that las part.  Sass my chapstick again and see if you get soft lips for kissing when I stop using it.”

Matt is so close he’s got one hand tangled in the sheets, the other clawing at Foggy’s shoulder to pull him closer, move harder against him, he doesn’t know.  He wants to rub against his thigh and come all over the man above him.

“O-one more thing?”

“What Matty?”

Matt is a mess beneath him, wild and sweaty, cock red and near throbbing within the vice of his palm.  He leans down, Matt’s lips brushing against the lobe of his ear as he speaks.

“You smell like a man who isn’t going to get any if he doesn’t hurry up.”

Foggy’s hand stops moving at once and Matt is pretty sure he sobs as the firm grip at the base of his cock returns again, aborting any option of coming no matter how hard he wills it.  Foggy makes a noise above him keeping his hand still while he drags his nails down the chiseled chest below him, moving his path to thumb a tight circle over erect nipples.  Matt can smell bright blood as it races to the top layers of skin, the scrape turning into a burn with the sensitivity of it all.  Sweat is collecting on his skin, and it feels gritty between him and the bed, abrading anywhere he touches. 

“I was going to let you come, because you did so good.  But your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

Matt is breathless trying to process it all, while Foggy abandons his grip to press their bodies closer.  He grinds against Matt’s thigh with a quiet noise of pleasure, the man below rising up to bite at Foggy’s jaw savagely before shoving his face into the soft skin of his throat to take a breath of that decadent smell rolling off of him.  Heady and male, and so sexual he wants to lick him.  He does, his is cock hard between the press of their bodies, those soft and hard in so many ways, pulsing with life and warm blood. 

One of Foggy’s hands finds its way amongst the pillows to the base of his skull, his fingers curling shortly after until he has as much of a fist full of Matt’s dark hair as he is going to get, and Matt melts.  He’s done hair pulling before when partners have asked, but this is new, this submission that sings in his spine.  He falls into the grip, rutting against Foggy’s front for anything that will help him come.

“ _Oh fuck_ -”

“You’re such a little shit Matthew.”

He presses closer into the hand in his hair, torn between tugging until there’s that bite of pain that’s just right, and following the plan that the other seems to have.  Foggy obliges him, tugging back until his neck is bared in submission, open for the press of lips and the scrape of teeth.  He’s going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, they both are. 

They rock against each other, Foggy’s free hand at Matt’s hip, thumb pressing into the seam where leg begins before he moves it back and takes a palm full of that perfect ass he’d tried to keep his eyes off of for so many years.  He uses his grip to jerk Matt against him, knowing that he can take the force, and oh, the way he keens below him makes his gut clench.  Matt hooks a leg up on Foggy’s hip, their cocks are trapped beside each other, each rock of their pelvises adding to the arousing drag of bodies that their tangle of limbs has created. 

“Should have known you’d like it on the rough side, stubborn bastard.”

Matt gives him a shaky smile, diminished by his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his skull as Foggy presses them into solid contact from chest to thighs, leaving the sides of his body open for Matt’s wandering hands.  God, he wants to map Foggy’s body, and he closes his eyes, trying on forming a picture that’s more than just lines of radar before him.  But he’s already on edge, strung out and they haven’t even gotten past some real heavy petting.  Foggy kisses him wetly, nipping at kiss swollen lips.

“I bet you’ll take my cock so good Matt, always knew you’d be perfect like this.  Fit so well.”

He grunts as one of Matt’s errant hands finds a grip on the back of his neck, calloused hands grabbing at hair until he can manhandle Foggy into a filthy kiss full of biting teeth. 

They aren’t getting to the next base without a break, so Foggy makes enough space for a hand to come between them and takes Matt’s cock in a fist, the skin oh so soft against his palm, slick with the precum that’s been steadily leaking since he last touched it and lube that’s rubbed off of his own cock with their shared contact.  He keeps talking as he twists his wrist on the upward strokes, more precum emerging from the head beneath his hand.  

“That’s it Matty, you gonna come for me?”

Matt makes a desperate noise beneath him, and Foggy grins.

“Look at you, all spread out beneath me, you’d feel so good stretched out on my cock.  You’d let me love you so well.  Such a good boy.”

Matt goes stiff below him, face hidden in Foggy’s neck as he comes, pulses of the fluid of his release spattering their abdomens.  He batts his hand away when it becomes too sensitive, and Foggy stills to give him a minute, cock hard and painted with ribbons of Matt’s release.  It takes a moment for the trigger to sink into his clouded brain for him to make the connection, wondering what set him coming with nothing more than the touch he had been using. 

Foggy stills, barely rocking against Matt’s thigh as the other’s half flaccid cock slides wetly between their sweat drenched bodies.  Matt’s chest is heaving beneath his own, and Foggy chuckles, releasing his grip of hair to stroke the hair back from his face with the back of his hand, petting gently from temple to stubble covered jaw.

“You with me buddy?  You need to shave, I’m going to be covered in razor burn tomorrow.”

“-s good thing it’s the weekend.  Not my problem till tomorrow.” 

The rush of endorphins makes him feel drugged, a light feeling that’s oh so different than those heavy hitting drugs he has to take whenever he’s in bad enough shape that he needs to call Claire.  He shuts down that thought before he can get anywhere else, ignoring that he just implied that Foggy would be staying, as if anything else would be an option.

“-Such a good job Matty.  You’re so good to me.”

Matt flushes and makes a noise, trying to return to the recluse he had found beneath Foggy’s jaw.

“This is a different sort of hot button than your pet peeves, but more rewarding certainly.”

There’s an irritated noise as the vibrations of muffled words rumble against his throat.

“Nothing new about that, it’s just been a long time since you’ve talked like that.”

Foggy takes a moment to digest this before he laughs, teeth bared in a wolfish grin.

“Why Mathew, are you saying that this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

“First time with you present..”

His tone is all dejection and self-loathing, so Foggy placates him by running his fingers through the thick dark hair, dragging his nails along his scalp.  Matt arches like a cat, rubbing himself against Foggy’s hard cock with his thigh while he fondles his torso, strong and calloused hands spreading wide to massage his chest until he’s panting.

“Tell me.”

“I-In school, you used to talk like that.”

“Aaaaand.”

Foggy can see where this is going, but after the realization a few months ago that Matt had probably heard him jacking off more than once, well this was a bit satisfying to hear, mutual mortification is healthy.

“I liked it.  _Really_ liked it.”

“What did you do?”

“ _I’d touch myself_.”

The response is a mumble, his face on fire with the severity of his blush, clear eyes looking at the ceiling..

“What was that?”

“I said.  I used to touch myself.”

“Where?  Because I never caught you.  And you’re a horrible sneak when you have a roommate.”

Matt glowers at him, stopping his ministrations.

“In the showers.  That’s why I always took mine so late.  I’d think about, c’mon Foggy don’t make me say it.”

“You listened to my heart beat for years and couldn’t figure out that I was interested.”

Matt makes a noise in his throat before biting at his collar bone.  Foggy refuses to be deterred though, and he moves him at arm’s length, using his weight to his advantage so Matt can’t haul him back on top.  There is resistance immediately, alongside a noise that is at least fifty percent pitiful.  Matt’s body feels the chill of missing body heat almost immediately, and he sighs in defeat.

“I’d think about you talking to me like that, and complimenting me, and I’d jack off in the shower thinking about you fucking me or sucking my cock.”

It’s a rush of words that takes a beat for Foggy to dissect, but when he does, he pulls Matt back to him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, licking at one of the many forming bruises.  The way Matt said it just seemed filthy and he grins against pale skin.

“How very naughty Matthew.”

Matt wiggles against Foggy, the sudden reminder that he is still very hard sliding wetly across his skin.  He’s indulged with a slow kiss, parting before he can get distracted to push at Foggy’s chest until their positions are changed, Matt kneeling between his bent knees.  He drags his calloused fingers along thick thighs, leaning down to bite at the softness while making sure his hands are carefully avoiding his erection with each pass.  Making sure Foggy is just as riled up as he was, body hot and fragrant below him, hands clenched in the blankets below them.  God, he never wants to wash this bedding if they smell like this.  He wants to roll around in it until he smells like sex and Foggy.

Matt moves up to replace his touch with his mouth, dipping a tongue into his navel while his hands span across ribs, laughing when Foggy jerks against him, trying to escape.

“You know I’m ticklish you bastard.”

“I must have forgotten.  You’re just so warm, I can’t stop touching you.”

He nuzzles his face down the smooth skin of Foggy’s abdomen, and he can tell the moment his plan is picked up, betrayed by a skipped heart beat and a deep inhalation that isn’t released for at least two beats. 

Matt runs his nose along Foggy’s erect shaft, breathing in the smell of musk and tasting himself on the back of his tongue, tinged with salt and the cotton of his boxers, and an unfortunate aftertaste of lube that he is just going to have to ignore.  He starts with a direct lick, the flat of his tongue slow and torturous as it moves up from the base, hooking right under the flared head before he takes the full of him into his mouth, swiping gently over the slit, repeating the action as a bitter pearl of fluid beads at the top.  He’s never cared for giving blow jobs, not a fan of the taste for it to be a regular activity with a one-night stand.

But he finds he doesn’t mind with foggy, the smell of a familiar body and arousal clouding his mind until he is lost in bobbing his head, tongue pressing to the pulse in blood full veins until large hands are tangled in his dark hair.  He works his way down slowly, letting his himself become accustomed until his nose is nestled in the coarse curls at the base of Foggy’s cock.  He swallows once, pulling back with a sharp smile as Foggy’s hips chase him.  He moves off to blow on the spit damn skin, the heat on the flesh vanishing for a moment before returning. 

Foggy swears at him, now empty hands fidgeting, and Matt almost wants to give him permission to manhandle him, let him push him by his shoulders and guide his head in a rhythmic fucking.  Maybe next time.  He takes him into his mouth once more, hands petting the trembling thighs on either side of his head before digging his blunt nails in, finger pads soothing crescent shaped indents after.  His pulse is climbing with the impending climax, and Matt drops one of his hands to cup his balls, rolling the soft skin in his palm before taking Foggy to the base and swallowing around him. 

The reaction is so sudden that he has no warning save an urgent tug to his hair, so he lets him come down his throat, warm pulsing waves of hot bitterness at the back of his tongue.  He licks any remaining fluid from the softening organ with care, content in his place until Foggy hauls him up for a kiss, thumbing away a stray dollop that has escaped to roll down his chin.  He’s relaxed into a boneless sort of state, draped between Foggy’s legs, his chin resting at the center of his chest.  Matt could be content with falling into a quick nap in all honesty, the warmth of Foggy bracketing his sides and his middle. 

“I live here now.” 

He moves with Foggy as he laughs beneath him, body shaking.

“I think we are way past needing a shower, bonus is that you made your bed, so the sheets don’t have to be changed.”

Matt hums in agreement, falling into that muzzy sort of doze that’s good on rainy afternoons until Foggy is moving, or at least trying to, from his spot beneath him, ignoring the hands wrapping around his middle.

“Nooooooo.”

“Yes Matty.  We are gross, and if you want anything else from me, I refuse to be crusty with dried sweat and other materials.”

He rolls off of him to pout face down into the blankets at the edge of the bed, tilting his head at the direction Foggy’s footsteps lead.  Foggy just suggested there could be _other things_ with him, but this was new territory.  Asking if someone would stay the night, seeing if that was of interest or if this was a onetime thing that would fizzle out after the weekend.  Or a mistake.  They said a lot of things during their romp, and Matt knows he was telling the truth, that he was talking without a filter, but Foggy’s pulse had been so high Matt wouldn’t have been able to find a lie, wouldn’t have been focused enough to look.  The thought strikes him like a punch to the gut, and Matt goes still with panic.  Horror filled thoughts filling his now anxious mind until his breath quickens.   

What if this made things worse, because there was enough tension, but now they knew about feelings, the attraction, the compatibility, even if it was just the sexual type.  The possibility of disaster flooded his mind, spiraling into the crisis mode of his youth, churning all sorts of what if’s, distracting him so much that he jumped as a hand touched his shoulder, Foggy’s voice filtering in as if delayed.

“-att you alright?”

He scrambles up to seize the hand with both of his, taking a moment to ground himself, to listen to Foggy’s heart before him, feel the living warmth rolling off of him.  Matt nodded, though he can tell from the noise Foggy makes that he isn’t buying it.  He needs to think.

“Just thinking too much.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned counselor.”

Foggy was surprised when Matt let him pull him to stand on the cool wood floors, even more so when Matt kept the grip on his hand, squeezing once as if to say, I know what I’m holding your hand on purpose.  A flush rose in his chest, creeping up to his cheeks, but he simply squeezed back, shutting the bathroom door behind them to trap the damp warmth, steam already fogging the mirrors. 

It was an open shower, the spray mechanism built into the ceiling directly over the drain, both fairly far from the main part of the bathroom in such a small space, to keep any errant water from spreading across the floor.  Matt Stepped in first, trusting Foggy with the temperature, feet finding the transition of tile to textured stone with familiar ease before he tugged Foggy in after him.  Foggy can’t help but think of the minor stroke this shower had nearly caused him when Matt had signed the lease for the place. 

_When Matt had first gotten the apartment, the master bath had had one of those shitty tub/shower combos, complete with empty rings on the curtain bar and a slippery bottom that screamed lawsuit.  Foggy had taken one look at it and nearly shut the rental contract down because he could just imagine Matt falling to his death by himself, tangled in some eye sore of a shower curtain._

_She had known of course that Matt was blind, they had made it very clear when making the first appointment.  But the realtor must have seen the decision to backpedal in his eyes, because she had given them the contact information for a contractor and taken a small percent off with an unspoken ‘please just take this thing off of my hands, I’m sorry I didn’t think about how a blind man would handle stepping into a bathtub.’  The contractor had taken one look at Matt’s blind ass and the shower and cut them a deal, saying if he could make some other arrangements, that he could have it done a week from starting.  After a week, Foggy was tired of knocking over all of Matt’s toiletries, so everybody won._

With the nearly equal height they have, the waters splashes off of their bodies in all directions, sparing nobody’s face from the spray.  Matt pulls him impossibly close, kissing him like they’ve got all the hot water in the world, Foggy making a pleased sort of sigh as nimble fingers find his hair, combing through it until the strands are heavy with water.  Foggy wants to arch into the touch, but he hums, leaving to scrape his teeth down the soft skin of Matt’s earlobe.

“You’re growing it out again.”

“I hate it short, I don’t know what I was thinking.  I should grow it out like it was in school.”

Matt laughs, sound resonating from the chest below him, ignoring the sad sound Foggy makes when the hands leave his hair.  He reaches behind him, hears the pop of a cap and the ridiculous noise of a soap bottle being squeezed too hard.

“Let me wash it?”

There’s care as the shampoo is worked through his hair, section by section, easing tangles until there’s little resistance to the glide of fingers, strands stiff with suds poking him in the cheeks.  Foggy’s surprised that the soap is scented, a light aroma that whispers of lavender and vanilla that eases some of the nervous energy from him.  He can feel his heart race when Matt reaches for more soap, hands moving almost tentatively over Foggy’s shoulders before he starts to move them downward in sudsy circles.  His self-consciousness doesn’t even appear as Matt washes down his middle, rubbing at the softness with a hum of appreciation.

“I won’t bite you know, well, that’s actually a lie but…”

The grin on Matt’s face is stupid, and Foggy reaches behind his back blindly, snagging a bottle off of the small built in shelf which he inspects before collecting his own handful of soap.

“I was going to suggest you retract that statement the moment you started it. It would never hold up in court.” 

He starts at Matt’s collar bone, wide sweeping touches that have them both trembling as the other washes steadily further down his body, battle roughened hands lingering on their path from his middle to his sides and back that makes Foggy want to squirm.  The strong press of fingers in his lower back work at stubborn knots he didn’t know that he had until they’re loosened and gone.  Matt thinks that this is truly lust before him, a part of him, he wants to press himself impossibly closer, wants to devour Foggy until the water runs cold and they warm themselves with the heat rolling off the other.

“Look here, I know damn well a mugger didn’t give me these hickies Nelson.”

Any retort his has vanishes as Matt slips to his knees in a smooth line of grace, hands spanning wide to gently knead the meat of his thighs without going where interest is certainly growing.  He stands slowly, the scrape of nails a direct climb from his ankles to the small of his back, and Foggy jerks him roughly into a kiss, grunting as the smooth wetness of taught abdominal muscles rub along his half hard cock.

Matt is nearly stiff with arousal against his hip, and Foggy takes care after rinsing his hair to wash the soap from his hand before taking him in a firm grip, pleased as Matt leans into him, his head on his shoulder, panting breaths against his collar bone.  He makes a small noise as Foggy leaves his grasp, hands pulling at him until Foggy gets settled on his knees, droplets of water catching on his eyelashes as he gives a sinful sort of smile to the man above him. 

He can see Foggy so clearly like this, as much as he can with his abilities.  Each drop of water lights his body like a Christmas light on the edge of his senses, the static of the noise falling away until he has such a clear outline he can see the softness he had below his hands, see the jutting outline of his hard cock between his legs as he kneels at his feet.  His hands all but claw at Foggy’s shoulders as the heat of his mouth takes him, direct and determined as he takes him to the base with a bob of his head.  Foggy hums appreciatively, pulling back to lap water off of his cock while he guides one of Matt’s hands to his hair. 

“Pull as much as you want, but if you rip it out, you don’t get to play with it.”

Matt makes a choked off noise as he takes him in his mouth again without warning, tongue rolling against the underside of his cock as he swallows around him.  Sinking his hands among the strands of hair, his fingers moving in a spasm, clenching and unclenching for a handful of slick hair.  Foggy hums below him and stills, holding Matt in his mouth until he gets the picture and uses his grip of hair to guide Foggy over the length of his shift.

Foggy groans as Matt begins actively fucking his mouth, careful to guard the sensitive flesh from his teeth.  His hands move up to spread wide over pale thighs, grasping at them before he can sneak a hand up to cup his testicles, the weight of them heavy in his palm as he rolls them with his fingers.  Matt jerks against him, rhythm faltering as he jerks against the warmth of his mouth.  He takes a firm grip of solid ass in his other hand, letting Matt regroup his rhythm while keeping him steady on the wet tiles. 

Hips jerk into his grasp and he moves, wet fingers gliding on the sensitive strip of flesh before he’s stroking the tight ring of muscle tentatively with two fingers, relaxing his throat as Matt bucks into him.

“Foggs, oh please!”

He’s half mumbling, and Foggy is pretty damn pleased he’s rendered Matt Murdock nearly speechless.  A hum rises his throat and Matt tightens his grip on his hair, a sinful shiver running down his spine as the pain spikes across his scalp.

“Touch yourself Fog.  I- ah!  I want to hear you.”

Foggy abandons his grip between Matt’s legs to take himself in hand, eyes nearly rolling at the first touch to the sensitive skin, moaning at the feeling.  Heat has been pooling in his gut since they walked into the shower, and part of him wishes he could smell what Matt must be, that heady rush of maleness and sex.  Matt stills with another direct stroke to his hole, holding Foggy still for a beat before his orgasm is ripping through him, spine curving with his head thrown back from the water, fluid sliding down Foggy’s throat with small twitches of his hips. 

He pushes Foggy away when he becomes too sensitive and all put hauls him up, pulling him into a filthy and bitter kiss as he fits a palm over the other’s grip, squeezing on the up stroke until Foggy is coming on his thighs with a groan, the fluid sticky on his skin before the stream of water washes it away.  The water jumps a few degrees lower and they rinse off quickly, turning off the spray before they dive to towels with dizzy laughter and unsteady legs.

By the time they can almost keep their hands to themselves and get out of the bathroom, the apartment is dark, save for the pink light of that God forsaken billboard spilling in through the bedroom entryway, shining off of the wood floors to paint their bare legs.  Foggy’s luckily still got some clothes crammed in the back of the closet from past drunken escapades, though the shirt is a bit tight, it’s enough to stave off the draft of the apartment.  The floor is still as cold as it always was on the bottom of his feet, and he’s almost tempted to steal a pair of Matt’s socks.

There’s thunder far off, and Matt can hear the small drops of rain beginning to land on the roof overhead.  It’s harder to block out like this, small and irregular, he much prefers a heavy down pour, the large mass of sounds easier to ignore as one small range of noise instead of the variation of small drops.

“That thing makes your place look like a bubble gum themed brothel.”

Matt laughs, padding his way softly to the switch for the overhead lights of the loft.

“I don’t see what the problem is.  I distinctly remember the realtor assuring us it wasn’t that bad at night.  I for one, love the view.”

“ _Oh my God_.”

Foggy throws a bottle cap from the kitchen counter at him, and it bounces off of Matt’s naked shoulder.

“Why the resentment of shirts?”

“Makes it easier to seduce you back into bed after we find dinner.”

Foggy’s reply fizzles out of his mind as Matt bends over to rummage in one of the lower drawers, pajama pants low on his hips as the material stretches over his ass.  That shouldn’t be legal at all.  Matt stands victorious with a hand full of delivery menus and a grin that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.  He crowds the brunette in to the corner, forcing the full body shiver against his own as Matt’s back meets the edge of the cool counter top.

He’s been doing well lately, so his torso is in good shape, old scars and yellowing bruises serving a pale base against the almost leopard print of bite marks beginning to darken his skin.  His tongue finds one, and Matt sighs above him, cradling his head.

“I need you to stay out of trouble for a while.  These bruises are bad enough on their own.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They order take out from the place around the block and collect fresh beers, forming a lazy pile of limbs until Matt perks up from his almost doze, sniffing.

“Food’s here, one floor down.”

Foggy shakes his head, disbelieving as the nock at the door sounds a moment later.  He fights Matt to get to the door, stating that he doesn’t need the delivery kid seeing Matt bruised to shit without his shirt.

“I don’t need him tipping off the resident social workers that I’m taking advantage of the blind guy living alone in the lofts.”

Matt drapes himself dramatically along the couch like he’s on the cover of a smutty romance novel, quirking a brow.

“What if I want to be taken advantage of?”

“Then I guess you should eat all your dinner.”

He laughs into the mouth of his beer bottle as they settle across from each other at the table, feet brushing underneath as they begin to eat, both unaware of how hungry they had been.  The conversation is everything and nothing, some work, some news, and it’s almost domestic as they settle into the old routine, but something closer, more intimate.

The dishes are taken care of, trash bagged out to go down in the morning, and they make their way back to the bed, the silk sheets slippery and cool on Foggy’s skin.  Matt enters his personal space like an oversized feline, any permission unneeded as they kiss languidly in the dark, the sounds of the city a far-off buzz in his ears behind the heavy rain.

They aren’t exactly where they were before the emersion of Daredevil, before everything with it came crashing upon them, falling in like a glass ceiling, but there’s an easing of something in his chest.  Because, maybe they are becoming closer, mending the frayed edges of their strange relationship?  It may be wishful thinking, but maybe it will be okay. 

He’s dozing off when it comes to him, draped over Foggy’s torso, in awe of the soft warmth that is his presence.  He rubs a tired hand over his face, replacing it on the outside of Foggy’s thigh, drawing nonsense on him with the pads of his fingers.

“Foggy.”

His heartbeat says that he’s just barely drifted off, and Matt is almost debating leaving it before deciding he likes harassing him more.  He drags his fingers up and up, back and forth across ribs until the muscles are twitching and jumping beneath his touch.  Foggy slaps at him twice before he finally catches the errant hand and presses a kiss to his fingertips, voice full of a tired sort of contentment.  He’s half hard with the smell of himself all over the larger man in bed beside him, though he is happy enough ignoring it. 

“The cane you poked me with in college didn’t feel anything like that Matthew.”

Foggy’s comment is almost a growl, making Matt shiver as the comment draws a laugh from him that shakes the bed.

“Go out for coffee with me tomorrow.”

“What?” 

Foggy’s hair whispers against his cheeks and ears as he lifts his head up from the pillows, his eyelashes fluttering against each other as he blinks at Matt in the darkness.

“Go out for coffee with me in the morning, or afternoon, hell anywhere that is open by the time we get up.  Twenty-four-hour diner, you name it.”

Foggy must make some sort of face, but it’s lost on him.

“You don’t like coffee from most shops.”

“Well I’m not looking to date the coffee.”

Another blink, an excited blip of the heart, climbing heat from his throat. 

“You know, I think you have this backwards, normally you sleep with someone after the date.”

Matt tilts his head, considering.

“When have I ever done anything normally?”

Foggy laughs beneath him, jostling them both.  Matt takes his hand back, dragging Foggy’s with it before kissing his open palm.

“Besides, we’re basically married anyways.  I kinda wish I had asked for a ring instead of a bronze business sign.”

“Can’t argue there, maybe for our anniversary.”

Heat is rolling off from Foggy’s groin, and goosebumps rise on his skin despite the warmth under the covers.  Foggy has been quiet, maybe thinking, maybe dozing.  Matt pokes him again, startling him.

“It’s polite to answer directly counselor.”

“you’re an ass, but I ‘m kind of fond of your ass, so yes.”

“You sure you don’t just want to take my ass on a date?”

Foggy hums, sleep creeping into his voice.

“Nah, I kind of like the bonus content that comes along with it.”

Matt shakes his head, but drops Foggy’s hand, settling back into his position from earlier.  He doesn’t know if he’ll really sleep, too many thoughts in his head, such a variety of what if, forks in the path that they are currently on.  But fingers tousle their way into his hair, making soft swirls through the strands until his breathing sinks to meet Foggy’s and the world becomes a different kind of darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)


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